Her lower lip trembled, and her shoulders sagged.
“Abby, sweetheart,” he said in a gentler tone. “I’m sorry that I hurt you, but if you know me at all, then you know I wasn’t trying to.”
“Well, you did. How can I ever trust you again?” Tears slid down her cheeks.
“Baby, please think about what you’re saying. What would I have to gain by tricking you?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped. “But obviously something. The house. The restaurant. You said yourself it was worth millions.”
He felt like he was climbing a sand dune in a windstorm, her fury whipping the sand out from under him, sending him tumbling backward with his every effort. She might be too angry and hurt to hear him, but he wasn’t about to let her obliterate everything they had over a fucking mistake. He clenched his teeth so hard he was afraid they’d crack and gritted out, “You know what? I’m done pussyfooting around who I am. Yes, your property is worth millions, but I could buy the whole damn island—twice—and still have enough money left to buy three more. You want to persecute me because I’m rich? You go right ahead, but you’re making a huge mistake, Abby. Think about it.” He stepped closer to her, but she stepped back, breaking his fucking heart. “Why can’t you believe that I was falling in love with you and I wanted to help?”
She was shaking her head. “I can’t . . . I need to think, and you need to catch a plane.” She inhaled, loud and ragged, and pulled the door open.
He stepped behind her, his heart shredding. “Please don’t do this. I love you, Abby. I’m not letting you go.”
With her back to him, she said, “I don’t know if I’m asking you to. I just . . . I need space to think. Can you listen to me this once and give me that? Please.”
Fighting against every action his mind and his heart told him to take, to go after her, to make her understand, he stood rooted in place, determined to listen even if it killed him—and as he watched his whole world walk out the door, he was pretty fucking sure it might.
CHAPTER TWENTY–FOUR
ABBY WALKED HOME in a fog, hoping to avoid running into anyone she knew by taking the long way, cutting through backyards and backstreets the way she’d done as a kid. Anger and hurt battled inside her, making her nauseous and teary and so damn confused she didn’t know which way was up. When she finally got home, the sight of the garden nearly brought her to her knees, and when a plane flew overhead from the island airport, her heart plummeted.
She dragged herself into the house, her chest constricting at the sight of the spotless living room, ready for painting and for her furniture from New York to be moved in. She and Aiden had joked about keeping her mother’s couch since it was where they’d first made love. Memories of the start to that amazing day when Aiden bit her butt, then wooed her like she’d never been wooed before swamped her. His laughter rang in her ears as fresh as morning dew, turning all those confusing emotions to a throbbing ache of sadness and disappointment. That disappointment fueled a tornado of anger—at herself for letting her guard down and at him for not being one hundred percent transparent with her.
She stormed into the kitchen and right past Cait and Deirdra, who were sitting at the table. She yanked the refrigerator door open, then immediately slammed it closed.
“Hey,” Cait said. “You okay?”
Abby paced, feeling like she was breathing fire. “Fine!” She grabbed a pot from the cabinet and banged it on the stove with a clank.
“Looks like someone is ready for a mimosa.” Deirdra lifted the pitcher sitting in front of her and filled the three empty glasses before her. “I’m not leaving until later, so we’ve got plenty of time to drown your sorrows.”
“And I’m here until Friday, so if you need to curl up in a ball and cry, I’ll take care of everything, including being there to meet the installer for the oven tomorrow. While I can’t cook for the judges, I did make you these.” Cait handed her a sketchbook. “I know they can’t replace Aiden, but hopefully they’ll help cheer you up a little.”
Abby opened the sketchbook and trapped a sob in her chest at the drawing of her and Aiden at the Bistro the first day he’d shown up to help in his short-sleeve button-down, khaki pants, and those stupid loafers she loved. Her hands were on his chest, his arms wrapped possessively around her. Cait had captured the wolfish grin on his face just as Abby had remembered it seconds before they’d realized Cait had walked in. She flipped the page, finding a sketch of the first night she’d cooked him and Cait dinner. He was gazing adoringly at her, and she was smiling so big, it hurt to see it.
She closed the pad and groaned as she slapped it on the table. “Thank you, but . . . Ugh!” She fisted her hands. “I’m so mad right now I can’t see straight.”
“That’s what the mimosa is for.” Deirdra thrust a glass in her direction.
“I don’t want a mimosa!” She stalked a path beside the stove. “Wait until you hear what he did!”
“Bought you a Lamborghini?” Deirdra smirked.
“This isn’t funny, Dee! He’s the investor who tried to buy the restaurant, and he’s the investor he was pushing me to use for that frigging angel deal. I found copies of the original offer when we were packing up his hotel room. Thank God I said no. He’s been lying to me this whole time.” She stopped pacing, staring angrily at Cait’s and Deirdra’s gaping jaws. “He told me he was in finance, and I bought it hook, line, and sinker. Frigging idiot. I let him get to me.” Tears spilled from her eyes, and she began pacing again.
“That asshole,” Deirdra snapped. “He’s lucky he’s gone because I’d like to give him a piece of my mind. I thought he was after your inheritance at first, but now it all makes sense. He was after everything. Fucking greedy prick.”
Despite her hurt and anger, Deirdra’s accusations stung. “He’s not a prick.”
“I said greedy prick,” Deirdra seethed.
“Wait,” Cait interrupted. “Can we slow down a minute? I know lots of manipulative, greedy pricks, and I’m sorry, but Aiden doesn’t strike me as one.”
“He tried to force her to take an investment deal and never said he was the investor. If that’s not the very definition of a greedy prick, then I don’t know what is,” Deirdra snapped.
“He didn’t try to force me,” Abby exclaimed. “He had offered to invest personally, and when I turned that down, he suggested that I put together a deal and present it to the investor. But he didn’t push hard when I said I wasn’t doing it. He just explained why it wasn’t the best idea, because I could lose the house and the restaurant.”
“Did he tell you why he never said that he was the investor?” Cait asked.
“Does that even matter?” Deirdra spat.
“God, Deirdra. Yes, it matters. I saw them together way more than you did, and there is no way he could have faked the way he looked at Abby. I felt his love for her from across the room every time they were together, and if you don’t believe me, it’s all right here.” She shoved the sketchbook across the table. “Proof of two people falling in love, not a conniving asshole and a duped woman.”